


I'm Your Biggest Fan

by Cantatrice18



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Closure, Confrontations, Feels, Fluff, Gen, post-movie: Incredibles 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 06:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Why did Syndrome never target Elastigirl?After the events on the island Helen tracks down Mirage, looking for answers to some important questions. But when the two women finally meet, Mirage's answers are not at all what Helen expected to hear.





	I'm Your Biggest Fan

It had taken weeks to track her down. No one on the island appeared to have noticed the disappearance of a certain suit-clad young woman, not in the chaos surrounding the rocket launch. Helen had called in all the favors she could, used every resource available to her now that the city was back to appreciating heroes the way they ought to have done all along. Finally, nearly a month after Syndrome’s demise, word came of a mysterious blonde holed up in the Presidential Suite of the Metropolis Hotel. Helen waited until her family was asleep (the kids in the bedroom they shared at the Motel, Bob sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV), then took the spare key and left without a sound.

She didn’t bother with their car. The Metropolis Hotel was iconic, a 1920’s skyscraper that rose into the night sky like a beacon. Discarding her civilian clothing, she took to the rooftops, limbs arcing gracefully from one building to the other. It felt amazing to stretch, like standing up after a long day stuck on a bus or a train. The journey took less than 15 minutes, half the time any car would have taken. She could have done it faster, but she preferred not to be seen by anyone on the streets below. When she reached her destination she paused, evaluating her options. The Metropolis Hotel towered imposingly over the downtown area, rising 100 feet higher than the nearest skyscraper. Helen considered her options carefully. The hotel’s architect had chosen an obnoxiously streamlined look that meant there were no handholds for her to grab onto. She could see the penthouse far above her, but the building’s roof was curved like a dome, easy to slip off of. A TV aerial stabbed upward, too far away to do any good. Helen had nearly decided to give up and use the main entrance when she noticed a window cracked open several floors from the top. That was enough. 

Stretching out her arm as far as she could she gripped the windowsill as firmly as possible, then swung out over the street far below, retracting her arm as she did so. The motion landed her exactly where she wanted, the open window giving her just enough room to balance on her hands and send her legs shooting upward like an absurdist painter’s version of a handstand. Her leg twisted around the aerial in a tight knot and she let her muscles reel her in until she hung upside down at the level of the Presidential Suite. Lights were on inside. She thought she could see a shadow moving in the living room, just out of sight. Then suddenly a woman appeared, backlit by the light from the hallway yet utterly distinctive nonetheless. Helen felt her lip curl in triumph. The woman didn’t glance toward the window, instead making her way to the impressively stocked bar and mixing herself a martini. Helen snuck a hand through the tiny crack between window pane and sill, undoing the latch with a soft click, then pressed herself flat and squeezed in through the quarter inch of space.

She landed on the plush carpet and straightened, her body returning to its normal proportions. Though she was certain she’d made no sound, the woman turned, clearly unsurprised to see her guest. “Elastigirl,” she murmured, voice husky. 

“Mirage,” Helen replied tersely. “You’re a hard woman to track down.”

Mirage gestured with her free hand toward a pair of elegant white chairs by the window. “Won’t you join me?”

Slowly, never taking her eyes off the blonde, Helen moved to the farther of the two chairs and sat gingerly on the edge of it. Mirage joined her, crossing one long leg over the other. “You’re welcome to help yourself to anything,” Mirage said, noticing how Helen’s eyes lingered on the drink in her hand. “There’s plenty to go around.”

Helen did not respond. Her attention was on the woman before her: slim, sophisticated, utterly gorgeous. She felt a lump forming in her throat. “I need to talk to you,” she said, more roughly than she’d intended. “I need answers.”

Mirage took a sip of her martini. “You want to know about your husband, about our relationship.” She set the martini down on the low end table beside her. “He isn’t lying to you. Nothing happened between us.”

“Good to know,” Helen replied, and she was relieved to hear the familiar curtness returning to her voice. “But I’m not here to talk about Bob. At least,” she amended, “not directly.”

Mirage raised elegant brows. “Go on,” she urged.

Helen steeled herself, looking straight into Mirage’s hypnotic eyes. “I want to know why you targeted my husband and not me.”

Mirage’s lips parted in surprise. “Why—” she blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “Your cover was better,” she said haltingly. “Your husband had already taken to reliving the glory days. He was easier to find. And easier to convince.”

“Like hell he was,” Helen retorted. “You’re telling me you people managed to track down dozens of supers, lure them out of hiding, but you couldn’t find one suburban housewife?”

“We didn’t—” Mirage crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders stiff with discomfort. “We had other priorities,” she finished, her voice cold and detached. 

“Mmm,” Helen hummed doubtfully. “See, I just don’t believe you. I saw the way Syndrome reacted when he realized Bob and I were married, that we had a family. Killing us would have been the ultimate revenge on Mr. Incredible, the super he hated the most. Am I right?”

Mirage did not reply, but her silence told Helen enough. “I think there was another reason Syndrome didn’t go after me. I think someone kept him in the dark, enough to protect me and my kids.”

Was Helen imagining it, or had a blush begun to mantle Mirage’s dusky cheeks? The blonde’s body language absolutely screamed that she was hiding something. She seemed unwilling to look at the super across from her, so Helen reached out, arm stretching until she could guide the other woman’s chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet. “Did you lie to him?” Helen asked quietly. “Tell me the truth.”

Mirage swallowed, then nodded jerkily. “I told him you’d died,” she whispered. “I planted evidence in a building fire, made it look like you’d been incinerated.”

“And the kids?” Helen asked, intrigued.

“Stepchildren,” Mirage replied. “Son and daughter of Robert Parr’s entirely un-super wife. Buddy—Syndrome had a stepfather, a bad one. He assumed your husband couldn’t possibly love children that weren’t his.”

Helen processed this information as quickly as she could. It was hard to imagine Syndrome as a child, even though Bob had told her all about his obnoxious “Biggest Fan”. It was even harder to imagine Mirage protecting a family of supers from her homicidal boss. “Why?” she demanded. Mirage flinched, and Helen realized she still had hold of the other woman’s pointed chin. She let her arm relax until it was back to its normal, human length. “Why put yourself at risk for someone you’ve never met?”

“Because you, you’re. . .” Mirage stammered. “Because you’re Elastigirl,” she managed at last.

Helen blinked. “Yeah. And?”

“And you’re a hero,” Mirage insisted. “I had all your comics when I was younger. I would wake up early and comb through the newspaper before my mother got up, just to see if you’d made the headlines.” Her cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. “When the supers were forced underground I cried for days. I felt like I’d lost a friend, a mentor, even though we’d never met.”

Helen stared at her, nonplussed, taking in every aspect of the slender blonde. When they’d first met (if one could really call it that) all she’d seen was an interloper intent upon breaking up her marriage. The blonde’s sophistication had been obvious, her tailored suit hugging her immaculate figure, but back then Helen hadn’t bothered to calculate the woman’s age. Now, upon further inspection, she realized Mirage had only the barest hint of crow’s feet at the edges of her amber eyes. The woman couldn’t be much older than thirty, making her a high school student at the time of the superhero ban. “You really saved me because of that?” Helen asked in amazement. “After 15 years of silence, you still cared enough to lie for me?”

Mirage’s arched brows drew together into a defiant stare. “Of course I cared,” she insisted. “You were my hero. I was your . . .”

“Biggest fan?” Helen finished for her. 

Mirage’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders collapsing inward. Helen stood abruptly and took two long strides forward, gripping Mirage by the arms and pulling her into an embrace. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For myself, for my kids, for what you did on that island to save my husband. Thank you.”

She could feel the moment Mirage relaxed, the moment the embrace became mutual. She held the position for a few more seconds before gently releasing the younger woman and taking a step back. “Don’t be a stranger,” she told Mirage, brushing the woman’s platinum hair back behind her ear the way she so often did with Violet. “After all,” she added, smiling crookedly, “you know how to find us.”

Mirage’s smile was tentative, but held. “I certainly do.”

Helen turned to leave, already planning her descent back to street level. She could feel Mirage watching her go. Just as she was about to jump she caught the murmur of Mirage’s voice, a whisper that reached her in the moment before the wind carried her away.

“Thank you, Elastigirl.”


End file.
